


Creole Magic

by ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild



Series: Jake and Cassie's Fluff Files [11]
Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Creole, F/M, Fluff, French, Lots of kissing, Magic, New Orleans, beignets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 10:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11079597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild/pseuds/ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild
Summary: New Orleans runs on magic and jazz and if you look in the right place, you might just find both. While there, Jake and Cassie find their own kind of magic. Or, the story in which the author imagines Jake would own a bookstore, French ignites Cassie's synesthesia, and beignets swim in powdered sugar. Nothin' like a little Creole magic.





	Creole Magic

The muffled thump of heavy boots on a cobblestone street; a glint of brass, some street musician pouring his heart and soul into a saxophone, and the warm scent of rum and brandy mixing with sweet aroma of sugared baked goods and the sharp spice of something frying. Beautifully dark skinned women with huge eyes that seem to look straight into the soul flutter around shops, preparing meals, offering sage advice on what should and shouldn’t be purchased, depending on the type of magic you’re looking for, and shooing the occasional troublemaker.

It’s sunset in New Orleans, when the city comes to life, and the real magic begins.

“That saxophonist’s been on that same corner for ten years.” his Southern rasp mixes pleasantly with the smooth Jazz that fills the streets, seeming to paint the sunset that’s sinking deeper into shades of burnished gold, dark orange, and pink-tinged blue. “He was here the last time I was here. And, he’ll be here next time.”

“When were you in New Orleans?” it sounds so pretty, her voice, and he quite likes the way it curls around the knot in his stomach.

“About five years ago.” He explains bashfully, eyes averting to the cobblestone street. She needn't know he's lying, that he comes here semi-regularly. “Before I met you, darlin’, I was nothin’ more than a Southern boy lookin’ for trouble.”

“Did you find it?”

Oh, it’s an innocent enough question, but the answer is anything but innocent. Even so, squeaking like a mouse is not the presentation he’d prefer for this explanation so he clears his throat and tries his best not to make himself sound like some sort of gigolo to every pretty woman in town. Instead, he grins like a little boy eagerly awaiting Santa’s arrival and puffs out his chest; “I did.”

She can’t help but roll her eyes.

And, admire him. His mop of dark hair, short but attempting to curl in the cool evening breeze and how it contrasts his bright blue eyes. How the crackle of magic draws him forward as if wings might burst forth from his back and sweep him away into the night.

"If you believe the lore, which given our job, we might as well." Jake grins, draping a lazy arm around her back, guiding her along. "New Orleans is run on magic and jazz and if you find the right streetcorner, you might find a little of both."

Cassie's face lights up.

There are store-fronts casting puddles of orange light on the cobblestone street and restaurants promising a meal of all the delicious, down home, Southern comfort food a soul could ever hope for. Patios with large umbrellas and wrought iron tables and waitresses with smiles and gallons of sweet tea. Then, there are the smaller restaurants with neon posters offering, "good ol' spicy Cajun crawfish and all the hush puppies you can eat!"

"We're about a month late for Mardi Gras," Jake tells her, watching her unbridled fascination with the culture she's surrounded with. "But, with your synesthesia, I figured it'd be a nightmare."

"Probably." Cassie shrugs. "But, I'm used to it."

"I know, darlin', but Mardi Gras is a place to let go and have a good time." he explains quietly. "I'd want you to have fun, not be overwhelmed because all of your senses got mixed up."

"I understand, Jake. Promise."

"That doesn't mean you can't enjoy New Orleans." Jake grins, releasing her waist only to grab her hand. "C'mon sweetheart, I know just the place."

He weaves through alleys, down streets, until he reaches their destination. The bookstore isn't a huge chain like _Barnes & Noble_ or anything, but it isn't so tiny they're struggling to stay in business. The little white house-like structure is well-kept, but still has an older feel about it. Cassie can't help but find the little iron gate and aged stone walkway endearing, seeming to only add to the magic of a city already so full of charm.

"Uh, Jake," she can't help but notice that there doesn't appear to be anybody there and all the lights are off. "I don't think we can go in - they're closed."

"Don't worry, Cass, I know the owner." Jake winks, pulling his keys from his pocket.

"What?"

"Read the sign, sweetheart." he directs her attention to the wooden sign, flanked on either side by a lush spray of white magnolias.

A little confused now, she moves back a little to read the sign. Her breath catches when she sees, _Jake's Book Repository_ printed neatly on the white-washed wood. Oh. Well, certain things about him make sense, now. His regular meetings with Jenkins, bi-monthly trips out of town, and even his other source of income - he always seemed to have a little extra.

"This is your store?" Cassie looks up at her companion in surprise, even as certain pieces fall into place.

"Yes." Jake tugs his key out of the deadbolt and opens the door. "C'mon, darlin'."

"How - ?"

She seems to flutter past him, smelling of jasmine, her blue skirt swishing prettily around her thighs, and the soft red cardigan clinging to her.

"Uh," pocketing his keys, he pulls the door shut, and reaches for a light switch. "I had a friend, who lived down here, for a while. She owned this place, but," Jake fumbles for the right words, eventually finding them with a bit of help from the floor. "She got married, didn't want the baggage goin' into her new life so she signed it over to me."

"It's a beautiful place." Cassandra looks familiar, comfortable in her surroundings. "I can't believe she didn't want it."

There are shelves upon shelves of books, old and new, some in better condition than others. In what would be the living room, long shelves stretch the full length of one wall and go all the way up to the ceiling, overflowing with books and old newspapers. Small, round tables and chairs fill up the rest of the room and the windows allow just enough natural light in to give the room a warm glow. Perfectly matched by the musty but distinctly vanilla aroma of old paper.

"This is the archive room," Jake explains softly, watching her weave through the furniture, fingers brushing along table-tops and the leather backs of chairs. "Most people want to read about the city's history, so I made the largest room in the house completely devoted to it."

"It's gorgeous." her compliment is sincere, and when she looks the way she does, back-lit by the slowly setting sun, he's in no position to argue with her, anyway.

"Wanna see more?"

"Please?" She follows him eagerly into what would be the master bedroom.

"This is the, uh, the Valentine room." Jake seems a little bashful at this explanation, blushing deep reds. "It's got some interesting relics. Copies of Johnny Cash's love letters to June, self-help books, love poems, and even a couple copies of the Kama Sutra float around, sometimes."

Cassandra soon follows suit with her own crimson blush, rubbing the spine of aforementioned Indian Hindu book. Though, it does cause something to somersault in her stomach, causes her brain to call up memories of the man behind her. His tales of brawls and lost cowboy hats, all told in a warm Southern drawl that had made her feel so safe yet had aroused her so much, she'd gone home and reacquainted herself with her own body, gasping his name when climax and relief finally claimed her. Then, there are times when she'd seen him fresh from a shower in t-shirts that were always a smidge tight around his biceps. How he looks after a run; with sweaty hair and red cheeks and eyes that are too blue. How easily he calms her; soft, tender voice and warm hands grounding her.

"There's a, uh, a section in the next room that I think you'll enjoy." Jake feels flushed, over-heated in the suddenly small room, and his voice sounds a little rough. "Want to see it?"

"Sure!"

He isn't quite sure what to make of Cassie eagerly taking his hand, allowing herself to be lead into the next room. It's a smaller guest room with hand-built bookshelves occupying pale yellow walls, except for the wall opposite the door.

A giant mural occupies that wall. It's obviously meant to encourage learning in children but the dreamy summer scene is still gorgeous and Cassie finds herself drawn closer to it to look at the details. Flowers blossom letters of the alphabet and tiny little bees curl around each letter, small black dashes marking their trail. Pale fairies with jewel toned wings and sweet little faces sit on stacks of books. A tree curves into one corner with number shaped leaves in varying shades of green and a smiling face painted into the trunk.

"Did you paint this?" she glances at Jake over her shoulder.

"No." Jake shakes his head, moving closer to her. "With the library and the clippings, I don't have enough time. I had a rough sketch and I knew the color palette I wanted but I let an artist do it."

"It's beautiful." Cassie smiles, absently rubbing the royal blue wing of a fairy, perched atop a stack of books in a variety of sizes and colors.

"Look closer at that little fairy." Jake grins, slipping his hands behind his back.

Her face scrunches in curiosity but indulging him, she leans closer and her mouth opens in silent wonder. The fairy is pale with soft red curls, big blue eyes, and her clothes are mixed prints.

Oh.

"She looks like - "

"I had her added after the frost giant case." he explains softly, watching her examine the little creature. "I know we have our differences but you're special, Cassie. You've shown me that the world isn't black and white. Kind of ironic, an art major not seeing color."

"It's not your fault, Jake." her voice is so tender, so gentle, he's a bit shocked - he's never felt this kind of affection, before. Not from a woman he wasn't sleeping with, and even then, it was sexual and not entirely genuine. "If anything, I blame your father. He was the one who saw the world as only black and white. I think having to hide who you were, having to conceal how smart you are and how vividly you do actually see the world, let the real Jacob get lost." she's probably treading on thin ice, but he seems to be hanging onto every word so with the last little shred of confidence she has left, she continues. "Fitting into your parents' black and white world when you're different, when you see every color out there, that's hard and sometimes, even when we don't mean to, we let ourselves - our real selves get lost."

"Is that - did it...?" but, he's not sure what he's trying to ask.

"In a way." Cassie understands, though. "They didn't understand. I tried but I couldn't hide it. I felt myself slipping away so I ran. I ran from them and I let myself see the world however my synesthesia wanted me to."

"And, how was that?"

"Every way possible." her grin curls happily upwards, because this - this is where she is at her best. When her senses come together in just the right way to allow her a view of the world nobody else would ever experience. Her eyes trace the little fairy's appearance once more before flicking up to Jake, over her shoulder. "I think she's perfect, Jake."

"Me too, Cassie."

If she notices the breathlessness in his voice, she makes no mention of it, instead allowing him to show her the wall devoted to science and math. Books on DaVinci, Einstein, and every genius in between capture her attention, and he makes a mental note to have his supplier order a copy of each of the rarer books in the selection and have them delivered to him in Portland.

She could probably get her hands on them in the Library, but he'd rather gift her, her own copies to do with whatever she chooses. Study laboriously until every word is absorbed, make notes in margins, or even to just enjoy having in her home. He watches her fingers brush along every spine, fingers bumping the leathery ridge of the older books in a rough contrast to the slick gloss of newer titles.

"I, uh, I don't have a name for this room, yet." Jake confesses softly, words almost lost in the stillness of the room. "But, I think I know one."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," he clasps her wrist, where it is paused on its journey along the long shelf, and tugs her a little closer. His voice drops a little; all low and warm and his Southern accent wraps so perfectly around his next words. "La Salle Magique."

"Could you say that again, please?" because, oh Lord, she's never had words trigger her, before but his voice just seems to find that part of her brain where her senses mix and gives them a pleasant jolt.

Jake tilts his head, a little confused, but indulges her nevertheless; "La Salle Magique."

She hums.

Confusion transmutes into realization and his eyes darken. Her pulse flickers, jumping up and settling down under his fingers, still warm and firm around her wrist. Her entire body sways, painted pink lips curling up into a smile, and her eyes hooded.

"Cassie?"

"Pleasant - gentle. Chocolate and cherries. Pink cherry blossoms, so many of them. So soft." her fingers move as if she can actually feel the velvety petals of a cherry blossom flower. "They smell sweet but fresh - new blossoms in spring. It's so nice, Jake."

Jake tugs her ever closer, easing his other hand onto her hip. She whimpers at the contact but doesn't recoil, mind caught in a rush of sensation. He releases her wrist and lets his hand fall to her other hip, soft red cardigan bunching between his fingers. He tilts his head, breath warm and damp on her ear as he murmurs the words once more.

Under normal circumstances, there wouldn't be anything even remotely erotic about her synesthesia. Of course, if this were a normal day, Flynn would be casually brushing off the explosion of magic and Baird would be reaming his ass for it, in the background. And, maybe, today wouldn't be any different, if New Orleans wasn't run by a magic of its own creation and if he wasn't feeling a little exposed, a little vulnerable to his own emotions.

But, she's _Cassie_.

Always some form of soft and pretty, but now, with a touch of sensuality about her, he's never considered before. Oh, sure, she's all woman but he's always seen her as a bit more fragile than she would have preferred. He's never seen her truly enjoy her synesthesia, not like this. Not with the hooded eyes and parted lips and soft sounds of pleasure that he's never heard from her.

"How 'bout a kiss, Cassie?" Jake wonders, thumb slipping under her cardigan to draw circles on her hipbone.

"I don't know." Cassie breathes, looking up at him through auburn lashes. "I haven't been kissed since I figured out I had synesthesia."

Well, that needs to be changed.

He shifts a little, moving both hands to thread in her hair, warm palms resting over her ears and his fingers tugging ever so slightly on her red curls. Blue meets blue and the space between them, what little of it there is, _fries_ with something not so much tangible as it is just sort of there, lingering, like it always has. Even from the day they met.

The first touch of his lips to hers is feather soft, light and tender, and he pulls away, not wanting to overwhelm her. But, she whimpers at the loss of contact and he presses a little harder. She moans, soft and warm, and he's pressing, swallowing her little noise of approval as their mouths move insistently.

"Good." Cassie grins, mouth shifting interestingly against his own. "So good, Jake. More?"

"Okay." Jake agrees, breathless.

A little helpless against her, at this point, he kisses her a little harder. It's all damp heat and tender flesh and she feels so damn good. From the red silk curling around his fingers to the soft velvet of her body pressing into him in all of the right places and the pull of fabric where her hands have bunched his shirt in tight fists.

She's almost overwhelmed by all of it. Jake is brandy and dark chocolate; smooth and warm and floral and sweet. His touch is the crackly heat of a dying fire, embers, not fiery hot flames. Everything is magic, bright and sparkling, and books with aged leather, vanilla pages, and careful inks, and paint splattered on canvases.

Lungs burning with want of oxygen soon forces them apart but neither of them are in any hurry to let go. Cassie looks deliciously disheveled, with those thoroughly kissed and slightly swollen lips and the hooded eyes and the now slightly riotous curls.

The realization that he'd like to keep her that way is quick and sharp and his breath catches in his throat.

"Son of a bitch, Cassie!" his voice is gravel, pouring out with a ragged breath.

"What?" her big blue eyes widen fearfully - was it that bad? "Bad?"

"No, darlin', good. Too good." Jake breathes, struggling through the kiss-induced haze that's settled over his brain like a thick fog. "I think I'm in trouble."

That gives her pause.

Her mouth opens, silent for only a moment, before she giggles; high and bubbly and happy. He thinks he's in trouble? She about fainted when he said three words of French, there is no way of knowing what's likely to happen if he opens his mouth and another language comes out.

"I think," Cassie looks up at him, eyes clear and bright, now. "I think, we should talk."

"Yeah." Jake agrees, tucking a curl behind her ear. It's not a conscious action, not something he has to think about doing, he just does it because he likes touching her. He likes the feel of her curls sliding between his fingers and the slight jump of her pulse when he lets his fingers trail down her neck. "How 'bout we grab some food and we'll talk about this thing we got goin'?"

"Sugar!"

Jake just laughs, agreeing, because there's no way she's leaving New Orleans without trying every morsel of sugar they have to offer.

...

Night curls through the city with notes of saxophones and magic; voodoo priests singing eerie chants, fortune tellers snapping tarot cards and clattering bead curtains. Jazz musicians appear like relics of the past, when the city was new and polished like the brass of a saxophone.

He takes her to a little cafe in the French quarter tucked in between two boutiques. The delicate lattice-work awning drips flowers in shades of pink, purple, and yellow, and twisting vines of green and yellow, with the darkest being almost indistinguishable from the night air, and the lightest, a pale yellow. Wrought iron and glass lanterns sit on poles on either side of the door, tiny little tea-light candles glowing orange.

"After you, sweetheart." he holds the door open like a good Southern gentleman.

"Thank you."

It's dimly lit and intimate inside. Tables covered in cloths of creamy brocade silk that shimmer a filmy champagne, candles dripping with melted wax flicker, offering a faint aroma of spice and orange, and the chairs are dark cherry, the backs carved with fleur-de-lis silhouettes.

"Hi!" a blonde, about Cassie's height, greets them with a crooked but sweet smile and the name Nina printed in purple sharpie on her plastic name-tag. "Two?"

"Yes." Jake nods, palming the small of Cassie's back.

His hand is warm and she leans into his touch a little as the waitress guides them to their table. It's tucked into a corner, away from prying eyes, something for which both Jake and Cassie are grateful.

"Drinks?"

"Two coffees, black. Two glasses of water." Jake orders easily, pulling Cassie's chair out for her. "And, a bowl of tomato bisque with a basket of bread."

"Of course." Nina smiles knowingly. "You come here often?"

"Often as I can."

The blonde just smiles, writes their order down, and promises to return with their drinks. Jake drops a kiss into Cassie's hair before moving to sit down across from her. "You ever had tomato bisque?"

"It's soup, right?" Cassie already knows what bisque is - one of the few trips she'd been on as a child had been to France - but she likes to indulge Jake's culinary side, likes to hear him ramble about food, eyes bright and starry, before his cheeks flush with heat in embarrassment at having done so.

"A creamy tomato soup." Jake grins, "I'm not that hungry and I'm sure you're eager for dessert so one bowl should do."

"What is dessert?" Cassie inquires curiously.

"I thought we'd try a beignet." he answers, even though his mind is busy committing to memory the visual before him. Candlelight sinking shadows along her jaw and glinting rich copper in her hair. Her big eyes alight with quivering amber.

"Sounds good."

It isn't long before the waitress returns with two coffees, two waters, and a basket of bread. The cloth lined wicker basket is piled with small samples of different French breads. Light, crisp baguettes, small sheets of fougasse, long rounds of ficelle, and a couple of denser breads with names that Jake's voice wraps around deliciously, and rolls of buttered brioche to finish it off.

"Here we are," Nina sets the bowl of creamy soup between them. "Will we be having dessert?"

"Yes. The beignet plate with fruit." Jake orders easily, practically rendering a menu useless. "And, extra powdered sugar for this one."

"Of course."

"Jake?" Cassie speaks softly, tucking her voice between them. "Could I tell you something?"

"Anything, darlin'." his smile is tender and patient.

"I want to be with you." her voice is confident but she is not. What if she misinterpreted that kiss? What if it didn't mean as much as she thought? What if she's never going to have what she wants with him?

Is trust still an issue? Would it always be one?"

"I want to be with you, too, Cass." Jake says as if it should be obvious. But, her expression clearly says that it wasn't to her. "Darlin', I know what I said about bein' in New Orleans but I'm not that guy, anymore."

"I just - I wasn't sure." Cassie explains shyly, blushing demurely in the dim light. "We didn't have the best start and I'm never quite sure how to interpret things."

"I brought you to New Orleans because I knew I couldn't be with you until I was honest with you." he's still so calm, explaining so patiently where most guys would be pitching a fit about having to make their intentions clear. "We've had our issues in the past and I'm not too sure about magic but that's because I'm a stubborn bastard. Cassie, I tried gettin' around it. Denied it, pushed it aside, hid behind some trust issues that have less to do with you and more to do with me being an ass. But Cassie," oh, does he look so earnest and sweet. "I love ya. I can't be with anyone else. It don't work and until tonight, I didn't think I'd ever be able to tell you."

"What's different about tonight?"

"You." Jake's head tilts, watching, gauging her reaction. "What you told me back there, about my Pops, you were right. I knew, then, that I had to tell you. You see through me."

"You ground me, Jacob." it's her turn for the heartfelt confession, now. "My parents didn't understand me, you know that. But, you helped me so soon after we met. We barely knew each other and you were there, holding me, talking me back. I knew, then, that you were different. Special. You didn't pretend to understand me, you were just my anchor." she averts her eyes to her lap, feeling a little uncomfortable, but needing him to know this. "Nobody else would do that. They would just stand there, staring, looking at me like I was some sort of freak and I felt like that for a long time."

"You're not a freak, sweetheart." his voice is rough, thick with emotion.

"I know that, now." Cassie smiles fondly, finally meeting his eye again. "Because of you. You made me feel normal. Like I could live. And, then you told me you didn't think I was fragile and that I was too smart to be so reckless and I think I fell in love with you a little more."

"You aren't normal, Cass, but you aren't a freak." Jake reaches across the table to take her hand. "You're special, all that stuff you got in your head, that's a hell of a lot more than most."

"I know."

"I gotta tell ya, Cass," Jake's smile dissolves a little. "Now that I've told you how I feel, I ain't gonna want to share you."

Oh.

Well, to be frank, she's not too crazy about sharing him, either. For any reason. She's perfectly aware of how popular Jacob could be with ladies, of all ages, and it amuses her to no end with the elderly women. But, the younger women, the ones who thought it'd be fun to put another notch in their bedpost with him - those were the ones she'd never be comfortable with.

"I was never great at sharing." Cassie can't help but smirk a little, eyes sparkling with a certain mischief. "I am an only child."

"Good to know."

If Ezekiel Jones were here - thank the good Lord, he is not - he'd be making some asinine remark about eyesex and Jacob would smack the back of his head and correct him. It is not eyesex. It is eye contact. If one happens to think about the other naked in their bed with nothing to protect their dignity but a cotton sheet, well, that was a fantasy for another time.

The tomato bisque is cold and untouched as are their coffees when Nina returns with a plate of hot beignets with extra powdered sugar and a bowl of fresh, cold berries. Jake barely looks away long enough to thank her and ask for the check as she's clearing away the bowl and cups along with the basket of bread.

"Shall we?" Jake motions to the squares of fried dough swimming in powdered sugar on the plate between them.

"Oh." Cassie shakes her head, hoping to clear the haze. "Yes, please!"

The French pastry is light and flaky and is, of course, a hit with Cassandra, with her massive sweet tooth. Jake brushes off some of the powdered sugar and enjoys his warm with cold fruit to contrast.

They occupy the cafe until closing time, long after the beignets and fruit are gone, content with each other's company and conversation. They discuss future dates, likes, dislikes, and everything in between until they have to leave. Jake settles the check, leaves a generous tip for the waitress, and lets Cassie snuggle into his side as they leave to find the back door to go home.

She's just about to pull the door open when, on a whim, he presses her into the crumbling brick building and kisses the powdered sugar from her mouth. Breathless and grinning like the Cheshire cat, they tumble through the backdoor, each taking a little of New Orleans with them.

Oh, yes.

Magic did run this city.

**Author's Note:**

> Rough translation of La Salle Magique is The Magic Room.


End file.
